


The Lightening Spark

by sparrow2000



Series: The Lightening Spark [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrow2000/pseuds/sparrow2000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander has an encounter he’ll probably never forget when he goes to meet a contact and make a delivery</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lightening Spark

**Author's Note:**

> Type: Gen, some years post Chosen for Buffy, Immortal Merlin  
> Warnings: some profanity  
> Word Count: 8,200 approx  
> Disclaimer: Joss and Mutant Enemy et al and the BBC, own everything. I own nothing.  
> Comments and feedback are cuddled and called George. I'd love to hear from you here at AO3 or at the story entry [right here on my LJ](http://sparrow2000.livejournal.com/123608.html#cutid1)  
> Beta extraordinaire: thismaz - Thank you listening to me ramble and giving me some great stuff to think about.
> 
> No real canon knowledge of either fandom is needed, other than that Xander has an eye patch covering his missing eye.

**The Lightening Spark**

The hand off at Kay’s Bar had been a bust, but Xander could say, hand on heart, that he’d been patient. The pint of 80 shilling that the Campbell the landlord recommended, had been extremely good and the atmosphere had been as laid back and relaxed as you could get in a very small pub that was full to almost busting with locals waiting for the big game to start on the TV in the corner. But for all that, he’d not spotted anyone who looked like they were waiting to take possession of a significant mystical artefact, as Giles had called it. After years travelling for the Council, Xander was pretty sure he could spot the type of person likely to fall into that category and they definitely weren’t there, despite him waiting for over an hour. He slid off the stool, that was right behind the door because there was no space for it anywhere else, and regretfully put his empty glass down on the bar. He knew that if he stayed any longer he’d want to try one of the other enticing beers on tap and, while the charms of Kay’s were many, he knew that being anything other than slightly mellow when he was carrying the magical doodah was not a good idea, even if the doodah in question was relatively benign. Or at least, that’s what Giles had told him. He nodded his thanks to Campbell and headed out of the door into the chill of the evening.

The air was bitter and the drizzle was constant, but Edinburgh in November was never going to win any prizes for a winter warmer getaway, so he buttoned up his jacket, pulled his knitted cap down over his ears and shoved his hands in his pockets, cursing himself for leaving his gloves on the kitchen table of the apartment (Giles called it a flat) that the Council kept in the city. Giles also called it an investment and Xander wasn’t going to argue after he’d seen the price they’d paid for the two bedroom ground floor apartment on a street that was so narrow he couldn’t imagine most American drivers having the nerve to negotiate it.

He turned right, then right again and headed down India Street, past the imposing sandstone terraces of what had been town houses, when people had had servants and the money to keep a four storey house running in the middle of the city. Pausing on the corner to let a car take a too quick turn into the sweeping crescent, out of the corner of his eye he saw a pulse of light in the communal garden opposite. The light grew brighter, then dimmed until it had almost disappeared before returning with a final blinding flash. Then there was nothing; just darkness and silence and the sound of Xander’s muttered, “What the fuck was that?”

He stepped forward cautiously; the cobbles were slippery and damp under his feet and he stamped hard on the urge to ask if anyone was there. Just because he wasn’t on the Hellmouth didn’t mean that he was going to act like the blonde from every horror film he’d ever seen. He acknowledged the irony of the thought.

Pausing in front of the narrow gate set in the railings that closed off the garden, he pushed gently and then a little harder, but the gate was locked. “Okay,” he muttered. “Not my fault. I tried, I couldn’t get in, so I can go back to the apartment with a clear conscience, freaky lights or not.” The fact that by doing so he could also get out of the drizzle and cold, was a given.

“Or you could just climb the gate,” a voice in his head that sounded remarkably like Willow, whispered. “Because mysterious lights that shouldn’t be there just smacks of something Hellmouthy, even if it is on the other side of the world.” The voice paused before continuing, “Or it could be aliens!”

With a sigh, Xander acknowledged that the voice had a point, aliens aside, and he eyed the metal railings. The spikes on the top looked less than welcoming, but a low hanging branch from a tree inside the garden had definite possibilities. Glancing around cautiously to check that there were no witnesses, he leapt up, grabbed the branch with both hands and hung there for a second before pulling himself upwards, until he lay with his stomach flat against the top of the branch. The tree creaked and he glanced down, settled his feet on the railing, in the flat space between the spikes, and caught his breath. Shifting his grip on the wood, he counted to three, then pushed off with both feet. He swung inwards, his back arched away from the railing and he came to land on the wet grass in the garden with a soggy thump.

“Well that’s one way to make an entrance,” a voice, which was definitely not his imagination, said.

Xander’s head shot up as a figure emerged from the far side of an old oak tree a few feet away. Rising slowly, his eye on the newcomer, he brushed down the front of his jeans and, as stealthily as possible, shifted his right hand up to the pocket of his jacket where he had stashed his stake, while simultaneously engaging his time honoured strategy of confuse and distract. “I’m working my way through the SAS Handbook,” he said. “Unconventional entrances into city parks is on page eight.”

“It’s definitely a skill,” the stranger said. “Personally, I’d rather use the gate, but everyone should have a hobby.” He wandered closer as he spoke and Xander held his ground. The newcomer was about his own age, but skinny in a way that might be metabolism, or lack of too many decent meals. His face was angular and pale, and contrasted with a mop of dark hair that look as if it could do with a cut. He wore a battered leather jacket and black jeans. The whole look was completed by a pair of purple Doc Martens. Xander couldn’t decide whether they were the most hideous things he’d ever seen, or possibly the coolest.

“Interesting choice of footwear,” he said finally.

The man grinned. “I like them, but my mum would shake her head if she could see them."

Xander chuckled. “Parental disapproval, always a good benchmark.”

The man’s grin got even wider and Xander found himself relaxing just a fraction. “So what are you doing in the garden?” he asked.

“Just passing through.”

“Just passing through,” Xander echoed dubiously. “I don’t mean to sound picky, but how do you just pass through a garden surrounded by railings and a locked gate?”

“Who said the gate was locked?” The stranger walked past Xander, stopped in front of the gate and pulled. It opened towards him with a creak and Xander drew in a sharp breath.

“But, but... it was locked,” he said. “Why the hell do you think I did the whole death defying, tree leaping thing? For the good of my health?”

“I thought it was because you’d reached page eight?”

“What?”

“The SAS Handbook, remember?” The stranger walked through the gate, turned and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Xander felt compelled to follow and he leaned against the railings, one hand resting on the top of the open gate. “Oh yeah,” he replied. He hated when people were actually listening when he engaged the confuse and distract strategy. It usually meant they were up to something. The thought crystallized in his mind. “Hang on,” he said. “Did you see some lights in here before. Weird lights.”

The stranger shrugged. “I wouldn’t call them weird,” he said.

“But you did see them?” Xander pressed.

“Yeah. I thought they were more pretty than weird.” The stranger cocked his head to the side and smiled back at Xander. “Although weird can be pretty, too.”

“Okay,” Xander said slowly. “And now we’re moving away from weird and right into bizarro territory.”

“Nonsense, we’re nowhere near bizarre. Anyway, there’s always room for a little bit of weirdness. It keeps life interesting. Fancy a drink?”

“What?” Xander felt like he had whiplash.

“A - drink,” the stranger repeated, sounding out the words as if he thought Xander was being particularly dense. “On me, in recognition of death defying stunts, investigating weird stuff and not saying my Docs are hideous.”

“That’s because they’re not hideous,” Xander paused then pushed himself off the railing. “Hang on,” he said. “I’m still kind of fixated on the freaky lights. If I’m going to risk life and limb being a good citizen, investigating strange phenomena, I probably shouldn’t get distracted by offers of alcohol.”

The stranger nodded. “That’s a fair point.”

“Unless you’re deliberately trying to distract me!”

The stranger nodded a second time. “Also a fair point. You’re on form tonight.”

“What?” Xander decided that whiplash didn’t begin to cover it.

“Using logic,” the stranger replied. “Being suspicious. Not being distracted from your mission. It’s really commendable.”

“Are you for real, or am I just having a very surreal dream?”

“I’m as real as it gets.” The stranger smiled. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be part of a dream as well.”

“You are weird.”

“Never said I wasn’t. So, do you want to go and investigate the lights?”

“The ones I thought you were trying to distract me from?”

“That’s the ones.”

“And now you’re suggesting that I go take a look?”

“Why don’t we both go and look?”

“So now you’re trying to lure me into a dark and deserted garden to investigate something mysterious and potentially dangerous?”

“Well, you said you were going to do it anyway, so I thought I’d keep you company.”

“Oh hell,” Xander exclaimed. “Why not. At least that way I can keep an eye on you.” He turned, pushed the gate all the way back open and headed toward the far side of the garden where the lights had seemed to come from. He was conscious of the stranger just by his right shoulder, close enough that he could see the man out of the corner of his eye, but far enough away that Xander could take the stake out of his jacket pocket and use it unhindered if he had to. The thought gave him momentary pause before being filed away for later analysis. They skirted the large oak tree and threaded their way along a narrow path flanked by a bank of old laurels that badly needed to be pruned. The path opened up into a small grassy clearing. In the middle was a large plinth topped by a marble statue of some forgotten dignitary. Xander stopped and the stranger stopped at his side.

“No weird lights then,” the stranger said.

“I can see that,” Xander replied. “I really didn’t imagine them.”

“I never said you did. I don’t think there anything wrong with your sight, apart from the obvious. In fact, I distinctly remember saying that I thought they were more pretty than weird. It would be kind of pointless to have said that if I hadn’t seen them too.”

“So you’re agreeing that there were lights?”

“Didn’t we establish that already?”

Xander watched as the stranger wandered over to the statue and bent down to read the small plaque set in the base of the plinth. Xander ground his teeth “So why the hell am I standing here, ankle deep in wet grass and getting rained on if you already knew they were there?” he demanded.

Straightening up, the stranger turned and looked at him quizzically. “Well you seemed kind of insistent on checking for yourself, which is very scientific, collecting empirical evidence and all that stuff.”

Xander ground his teeth again. “But there’s no evidence, because there are no lights now and nothing to show that there ever were any.”

“Well I’m not sure about that.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” the stranger said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Just talking to myself. It’s a bad habit.”

“Fuck,” Xander said. “Since there’s nothing to see, there’s absolutely no point standing about here getting cold and wet.” He turned and started to retrace his steps along the path through the laurels. “Are you coming?” he threw back over his shoulder.

“Absolutely,” the stranger said. “You know, that’s the trouble with portal spells. They’re a bit like Chinese food. All flashy and eye catching at the time, but once they’re over, they kind of disappear without a trace.”

Xander stopped and turned slowly. “Portal spells,” he said.

“Yes.”

“You said ‘portal spells’.”

“Yes. So now we’ve established that there’s nothing wrong with your hearing either.”

“Portals, as in doorways.” Xander took a step forward and the stranger took a matching step back. “Spells as in magic. Portal spells as in magic to create doorways.”

Xander took another step forward, but this time the stranger held his ground. “You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes. Does that mean I get to be Watson?”

“Only if I get to say eleme... Fuck, you’re just distracting me.” Xander took a deep breath. “So you know about magic?”

“Yes.”

“Do you go around telling everyone you meet, or did you pick me for a reason?”

“Well, telling just anyone would be silly and might get me locked up.” The stranger grinned. “Either that or some really good chat show bookings.”

Xander crossed his arms and raised his chin.

“Yeah, I know, stupid joke.” the stranger said. “I picked you because we were having a conversation and you were getting a tiny bit stressed, if you don’t mind me saying. It seemed polite to put your mind at rest on the whole weird lights issue.”

“And you thought telling me it was a portal spell would put my mind at rest?”

“It was worth a try.”

“So why – actually, hang on – if you think telling random strangers would be silly and get you locked up, why did you think it was okay to tell me? Why wouldn’t I think you were nuts?”

“You don’t think I’m nuts?”

“I think the jury is still out on that one.”

“Alright. You’ve got a stake in the right pocket of your jacket. Unless you’re some kind of undercover superhero carpenter, ready to do emergency repairs on really small fences in a single bound, I’d say it was for killing vampires. If you’re prepared to kill vampires, you know about the supernatural. If you know about the supernatural, you probably know about magic. In fact, you do know about magic because you’ve got a very interesting charm around your neck, and there’s at least one very powerful protection spell on you. Q.E.D, you know about magic. So I knew it was safe to tell you. Elementary my dear Watson...”

Xander stared at the stranger, then turned on his heel and headed back along the path through the laurels. “Elementary my dear fucking Watson,” he muttered. “That’s just typical. I’m being analysed by a lunatic who appears out of nowhere and I’m still the damn sidekick.” He reached the gate, which was still partially open, passed through and turned, watching as the other man approached.

The stranger pulled the gate gently shut behind him and stopped just out of reach. “Ignore me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. My bantering skills are a bit rusty. I used to do it all the time, but it’s been a long while since I had someone who gives as good as he gets. I got a bit carried away. Sorry.” He paused. “I was serious about that drink.”

The grin was back, slightly dimmer than before and against his better judgement Xander found himself nodding. “I’m probably going to regret this, but okay. There’s a decent bar just up the street.”

“Cool.”

“But, I guess I should introduce myself, if you’re going to buy me a drink. My name’s Xander. Xander Harris.”

“Pleased to meet you Xander. I’m Merlin. Now let’s get that pint.” He walked off across the street as if it didn’t occur to him that Xander might not follow.

Xander stood by the garden gate and looked back into the darkness beyond the old oak. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said to no one in particular. The oak tree didn’t reply and when he pushed on the gate, it was locked. He crossed the wet cobbles to where Merlin was waiting on the other side of the road. He had a feeling that in the weird hall of fame, the evening was going to get a mention all to itself.

**************************

Kay’s hadn’t changed much since he’d last been there, which wasn’t surprising, given that it had only been 15 minutes earlier. But with the current weirdness firmly in mind, Xander wouldn’t have been surprised if the bar had changed completely, been beamed up by aliens, or just been a figment of his extremely active imagination. He squashed his jumbled thoughts into the back of his brain and pushed his way through the crowd gathered around the big screen TV, Merlin at his back.

Campbell behind the bar raised an eyebrow. “Couldn’t keep away, could you? And here was you saying you were all done for the night.”

Xander rolled his eye. “Yeah I know. But I ran into someone on the way home and got persuaded to come back and have another pint. On him.”

“Is that so?” Campbell replied. “Well, if someone else is buying...” He looked over Xander’s shoulder and his eyebrow got even higher when Merlin shifted to stand next to Xander, his elbow resting casually on the edge of the bar. “So that’s the way of it,” Campbell muttered. “Two pints then boys. The Blunderbuss is pouring well tonight if you’ve a notion.”

Xander glanced over at Merlin who lifted his thumb in a gesture Xander assumed was agreement. “That sounds great,” Xander said.

Campbell pulled the pump slowly until he had two pints ready to go. He put them carefully on the bar and took the cash Merlin offered with a nod and a few muttered words that Xander couldn’t make out.

“Shall we see if we can find a seat,” Merlin grabbed both drinks.

Xander looked around the busy bar. “I don’t hold out much hope.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone in the snug,” Campbell said at their back. “With the match on tonight, everyone wants to be where they can see the tele.”

“The snug it is,” Merlin said decisively and started to make his way slowly through the crowd in the direction Campbell had pointed. Xander followed, because Merlin had his beer and because, he acknowledged, he had completely lost control of the situation, so following seemed as good an option as anything else.

The snug turned out to be a small room through a narrow door at the far end of the bar. It had one table and four chairs, all of which were empty as Campbell had predicted. A small cast iron, wood burning stove sat in one corner and the walls were lined with book shelves and pub memorabilia. It was warm, cosy, and well, it was snug, Xander thought as he took the seat facing the door.

“It’s well named,” Merlin said. “Snug by name, snug by nature.”

Xander nodded, wondering if he’d spoken his thoughts out loud.

“So,” Merlin continued, collapsing into the seat opposite and lifting his glass. “What shall we drink to?”

“What?” Xander asked, absently. He was more than half focused on the fact that Merlin was sitting with his back to the door, which spoke of confidence or stupidity depending on how you looked at. Or possibly that Merlin was deliberately blocking his exit and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. But then again, as a magic user, he guessed it didn’t really matter where Merlin sat if he was going to start with the mojo. For now, Xander decided he’d better just pay attention.

“Earth to Xander. Drink. The one I just bought,” Merlin said, pointing at Xander’s own pint. “What shall we drink to? The SAS handbook, the weather, not getting skewered on dangerous railings? The options are endless,” he said, as he shifted in his seat and stretched his long legs out sideways.

Xander picked up his pint. “How about we drink to interesting fashion choices?” he said with a nod to Merlin’s purple Docs.

Merlin flexed his feet and grinned. “I can drink to that,” he said. “Cheers.” He lifted his glass in a small salute and took a long pull. “God, that’s good.”

Xander took a cautious sip of his own, then a longer drink. “Yeah, that is good.” He sat back and stared at his pint before looking back up at Merlin. “It’s funny. I never thought I’d get used to British beer. I used to be strictly a cold beer from the fridge kind of a guy. But I’ve really got into the whole craft beer thing since I’ve been here.”

“Difficult not to in Britain, with all the pubs.” Merlin paused to take another drink. “You can even get decent stuff in some of the big chains if you’re willing to look past all the crap. Of course, sometimes the only way to know if something is crap is to try it and then put it on your ‘never drink again’ list."

Xander nodded. “That’s one way of doing it. I’ve been working on the assumption that if it’s got a really weird name, it’s probably more likely to be good. It’s not an infallible method, but it’s come up trumps more times than not. I mean, Blunderbuss is a case in point. I know Campbell recommended it, but I’d have got round to it the next time anyway, if it was still on tap, because it’s just such a weird word.

It’s as good a method as any for making a decision,” Merlin agreed.

Xander studied his pint for a second before looking back at Merlin. “So now that we’ve established what we’re drinking to, I guess the obvious next question is why are we drinking?”

“Do you mean philosophically?”

“Possibly,” Xander replied. “But probably not. I’m thinking you don’t just invite random strangers for a drink. Of course, unless you do?”

Merlin shook his head. “Can’t say that I do. But then your average stranger isn’t a public spirited vampire hunter.”

“Are you saying there are vampire hunters who aren’t public spirited?”

“Sure there are. People with obsessions, or on quests, usually because a vampire killed their wife, husband, father, mother, insert name of dead relative here. Once they get their revenge, they usually go back to their lives thinking they’ve achieved what they set out to do – job done.”

Xander leaned back in his chair. “It’s a reasonable point of view.”

“You don’t really believe that,” Merlin replied.

“You don't know that.”

“I know enough. You went to investigate the weird lights without knowing what you were getting into and without any back up. You agreed to have a drink with me because you’re still not sure if I need keeping an eye on, no offence, what with the whole portal business.”

Leaning forward, his elbows on the table, Xander propped his chin on the back of his hands. “Okay, so since I’m here, keeping an eye on you, no offence taken, let’s talk about the portal business.”

Merlin took another quick drink, which was followed by an even quicker burp. “Sorry. My system is always a bit all over the place after I’ve been travelling. So yeah, what do you want to know?”

“A portal means magic,” Xander said.

“Yep.”

“Did you do the magic, or did someone else do it for you so that you could go through the portal, or do you have a magical whatsit that does it for you?”

Merlin chuckled. “Magical whatsit, I love that. No, I don’t have a magical whatsit and someone else didn’t do the magic.”

“So you did the magic?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re a magician. And you’re called Merlin.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit of a cliché? It’s like a vampire suddenly calling themselves Dracula, just because they’ve become one of the pointy tooth brigade.”

“Dracula was real,” Merlin commented.

“Tell me about it. But that’s not the point. You can do magic, so you decided Merlin would be a cool name. Or did Merlin come first, so you decided that you needed to be a magician?”

“Nominative determinism, it’s an interesting concept.”

Xander scratched absently at his cheek. “I’m sure it is,” he said. “If I knew what the hell it meant.”

Merlin picked up his pint and gestured in Xander’s direction. “What you just described – did my name influence what I do?”

“Well, did it?” Xander asked.

“No more than yours, Alexander.” He took another long drink of his beer and put his glass down gently on the table. “We are who we are. I’m Merlin. You’re Xander. That’s who we are. Changing our names doesn’t change us. You can call me Reg if it makes you feel better.”

“You really don’t look like a Reg,” Xander replied, picking up his glass. “I’ll stick to Merlin if that’s okay.”

Merlin nodded. “Fine by me. That’s my name.” He stared at his boots for a second before looking back up. “Always has been,” he said. “Always will be.”

“I feel like you should say that in your best ‘Charlton Heston bringing the tablets down from the mountain’ voice,” Xander said with a smile.”

Merlin stared at him and said nothing.

Xander stilled, his glass frozen half way to his lips. “You mean that...” he said. “But, no way...” He took a quick gulp of his beer and set the glass down on the table with a thump. He was gratified to see his hand only shook slightly. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Merlin replied.

“But that’s...that’s...”

“Magic,” Merlin finished.

“But how? Why? I mean...fuck. Fuck. Really?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

Closing his eye, Xander took a deep breath, then another before opening it again. “Well, do you blame me. It’s not every day I get to meet a living legend. I mean, that’s if you’re not a nut ball.” He paused. “You are still living, aren’t you? Not some kind of zombie magician, because that would be just too bizarre.”

Merlin snorted. “Your brain is a strange place, you do know that. No, I’m not a nut ball and I’m not a zombie magician. I’m just Merlin. That’s all.”

“That’s all, he says.”

“Anyway,” Merlin continued. “I could say that it’s not every day I get to meet one of the Slayer’s friends.”

“What?”

“Oh come on, Xander. You hunt vampires. You’re an American in Edinburgh, where the Council just happens to have a base. You’ve got an eye patch. You know about magic and you realised fairly quickly, with only a minimal amount of freaking, who I am. It wasn’t a stretch to work out who you are and you handily confirmed it by introducing yourself. You do have a reputation in supernatural circles.”

“Well fuck.”

“You really do need to get a new buzz word. You’re wearing that one out.”

Standing up, Xander pushed his chair to the side and eyed the door back to the bar. “I think I need another drink.”

“You haven’t finished your first one yet. Do you think another one is a good idea?” Merlin asked. "What with you carrying the magical whatsit.”

“What?” The whiplash feeling was back, this time to the power of ten.

Merlin pushed his own chair away from the table, but he stayed sitting, his eyes fixed on Xander’s face. “The meet that was supposed to happen earlier this evening. Remember that? It was with me. But I was late. That’s why we met in the gardens.”

Xander stared down at him. “You’re my contact? You’re the person Giles sent me to meet?”

“That’s right.”

“So does Giles know? I mean, does he know who you really are?”

“Yes, he does. And before you ask, no he didn’t tell you or any of the others because he respects my privacy. After all these years I don’t share lightly, so he knew I would tell you if I wanted to, or felt it was necessary. Giles is a good man. He respects me. Not like some of his predecessors. It’s a long time since I’ve had dealings with the Council.”

“So he told you I’d be your contact?”

Merlin shook his head. “No, I didn’t know who it would be. But when I saw you, I realised who you were, then you confirmed it, so it wasn’t hard to guess you were my contact. Giles is careful. He knew I was looking for a particular artefact and he sent me a time and place to meet where he knew I’d feel comfortable. That’s all.” He chewed absently on the edge of his thumbnail. “There are still too many people who would try to exploit the connection if they knew about it,” he finished.

“Who the hell would have the balls to try to exploit you?”

“Wolfram and Hart for one, or what’s left of them. And there’s any number of other players who’d try their hand. And they wouldn’t necessarily try to exploit me. They’d try to exploit Giles, or any one of you, if they thought it would make me dance to their tune.”

“Christ.”

“It makes a change from ‘fuck’,” Merlin said. “So we’re careful. Or as careful as we can be. I thought I might have blown it by being late and having to do the flashy portal thing to get over here. You’re not the only one who might have noticed the weird lights.”

“So if it was a risky thing to do, why did you. Why were you late?” Xander asked.

Merlin blushed. “I went for a walk on Arthur’s Seat. Lay on the grass and watched the stars. Gathered my thoughts and opened my mind. I got a bit lost in memories.”

“Arthur’s Seat? You mean that big hunk of rock on the edge of the city?”

Chuckling, Merlin stretched then slumped bonelessly back in his chair. “That big chunk of rock is an extinct volcano, so you might want to give it a bit more respect.

A roar went up from the bar and Xander jumped slightly” He cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said, leaning one shoulder against the bookshelves. “I’m just a little twitchy. I guess someone scored a goal.”

“Sounds like it,” Merlin agreed.

“Why Arthur's Seat? It doesn’t really have anything to do with Arthur does it?”

“It’s in a lot of legends,” Merlin replied. “But then, so are a lot of other places. It’s the nature of the story. Lots of places want to claim a part in the tale.”

“So it’s a coincidence that it’s called Arthur's Seat?”

Merlin tilted his head as another roar went up in bar. “Sounds like the home team is on a roll,” he said. He hunched forward and stared down at the floor, his hands hanging loosely between his thighs. Xander wanted to say something, but the atmosphere in the snug had changed. The noise from the bar sounded as if it was coming from a million miles away and the fire in the stove in the corner seemed to be twice as bright as it had been a moment before. “You believe in magic, Xander.”

Xander started to nod, but Merlin was still staring at the floor. “You know I do,” he said.

“Do you believe that Arthur existed?”

Xander wanted to just say yes, but he realised it would be a lie. “I don’t know,” he said. “He’s not my legend. I’m from California. But the idea of him and the stories have to have some basis.” He paused. “And if you really are Merlin, then I guess that means that he was real. Or at least, I’d like to think so.”

Merlin looked up at him. “So if I told you that the great dragon is sleeping under Arthur’s Seat and I went to talk to him, would you believe me?”

“A dragon?” Xander squeaked.

“Not just any dragon. The great dragon. He’s been asleep for hundreds of years.”

“And you went to talk to him and that’s why you were late and had to risk the flashy entrance?” Xander paused. “Although if he’s asleep, how do you talk to him?”

Chuckling, Merlin straightened up and the pressure in the room seemed to dissipate. “Sounds ridiculous when you put it like that, but yes. Sometimes I talk to him and hope that he's listening. Sometimes I get ideas that weren’t in my head before and I like to think he’s helps me along, when I can’t get my thoughts straight.”

“Wow,” Xander replied. “That’s a lot, if you know what I mean.” He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and concentrated on the spines of the books on the middle shelf of the opposite wall. There was everything from battered airport novels to leather bound books with faded gold lettering on dark, scarred spines that he automatically labelled as ‘Giles’ book’s. ‘Giles’ books’ were not the kind of books that he’d expect to find in a pub in the middle of Edinburgh, but the sight of them seemed to settle him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He contemplated the shelf for a moment longer before turning back to Merlin. “So putting dragons aside for a moment, and isn’t it a fucked up world when I can actually say something like that?"

Chuckling, Merlin leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. "Put like that, I suppose it is." He hesitated. “Now that we’ve established we’re in agreement, could we maybe get down to business. You’ve got the amulet?”

“I’ve got it,” Xander acknowledged.

“Can I see it?”

“I guess.” Xander dug in the left hand pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small velvet bag. He tugged at the drawstring at the neck until it loosened, then turned the bag upside down. A small, ornate bronze circle with a polished black stone at its centre dropped into his palm. “Is this what you were expecting?” he asked, his eyes fixed on Merlin.

“Yes,” Merlin whispered. “It is.”

Xander glanced down at the amulet then back up at Merlin’s face. “Touch it,” he said. “Just your forefinger.”

Merlin untangled his fingers, leaned forward and stretched out his right hand. He hovered over the amulet in Xander’s palm for the space of a heartbeat then brushed the tip of his finger lightly over the polished surface of the centrepiece, top to bottom, then left to right, as if he was marking off the points of a compass.

The amulet grew hot and heavy in Xander’s hand and he stifled a gasp. When Merlin withdrew his finger the amulet was suddenly cool in his palm. The weight of the moment before vanished, as if it had never existed. “I guess it really is meant for you,” Xander said, looking back up at Merlin.

“I guess it is,” Merlin agreed. “But it’s safer to check.”

What does it do?” Xander asked. “I mean, it must be pretty special if you need it. I’d have though with all your mojo you wouldn’t need any doohickeys."

“You’d be surprised,” Merlin said wryly. “It’s not just about power.”

“It’s about responsibility,” Xander finished, dropping his voice into his best pompous movie voice over tone.

“That too,” Merlin agreed. “But power isn’t enough. Power is energy. Sometimes when you release it, it disperses and there’s no guarantee where it will go. So you need a focus for the power, which is where spells come in handy.”

“So the amulet is a focus?” Xander asked.

“In a way. It’s like a trigger for a beacon.”

“A beacon?”

“Or maybe I should say a series of beacons, right across the country. Like magical bonfires, lighting up the landscape, just like they did for centuries when danger threatened.”

Xander slid into the chair at right angles to Merlin. He placed the amulet between them on the table, the black velvet of the bag cushioning it from the wood underneath. “What danger?”

“The usual,” Merlin replied. “Death, famine, pestilence. The end of the world.”

“Fuck.”

“That word does have its uses.”

“But, but when’s it going to happen? What’s the timeline? Are we talking before last orders, because right now that extra pint is looking like a really, really good idea? Or the day after tomorrow, or next Christmas, or in five hundred years time?"

Merlin shook his head. “Not in your lifetime, or even in that of your grandchildren. But one day, far too soon for the people who will be there then, it will come.”

“What can we do now? There must be something, surely?”

“You did it,” Merlin replied, lifting the amulet off the table and holding up to the light. “You gave me this.”

“I don’t understand. You said it acts as a trigger for some beacons, but if the beacons are magical, who will see them? Who will know what they mean? Who are they meant for?”

Merlin lowered his hand and traced his thumb across the top of the piece of polished jet at the centre of the amulet. “They are meant for Arthur,” he said quietly. “This jet is the focus. Jet comes from the decomposition of wood from millions of years ago, when forests covered so much of this country. The trees grew and flourished, died and decomposed and then something else was created - jet. Men came to where the forests had been and the jet was mined and fashioned and polished. Just like Camelot grew strong and flourished and Arthur polished its might until it dazzled like the jet. It’s a symbol of transformation, just as Arthur was and will be again. He is the once and future king and one day he will come back and help us face the final battle. I can use the amulet as a trigger and the beacons will send out a signal that will thrum through the earth from one end of this country to the other and slowly, surely, Arthur will wake."

Xander shivered. “Does Giles know? Does he know why you need the amulet?”

“No,” Merlin replied. “Well, he knows in general terms that the end of the world is on its way at some point, so from that perspective he knows, but you all deal with at least one apocalypse a year, so that’s not news. He doesn’t know exactly what I want the amulet for. He was simply doing me a favour in return for favours I’ve done him, and before you ask, no I’m not going to tell you what they were.”

“I think I feel sick,” Xander said. “I stood in a pub waiting for you to turn up – well, I didn’t know I was waiting for you particularly – but I was waiting for the contact, and I had a pint to pass the time. Then I nearly got myself impaled on some park railings investigating weird lights and all the time I had some magical blue touch paper that’s going to bring King Arthur back to save the world, sitting in my jacket pocket."

“Breath, Xander,” Merlin said softly.

“What if I’d got drunk and left my jacket in the bar? Or got mugged? Or if the amulet had fallen out of my pocket when I was doing my Olympic gymnast impression?”

“But you didn’t and it didn’t. Giles trusts you. You got the amulet to me. You did the test to make sure I really was the intended recipient. So I’ll take it from here. Job done.”

“Job done,” Xander echoed. “You don’t really expect me not to tell Giles, do you? So we can try to stop things before they get to the point where you need to light those beacons.”

“No.” Merlin smiled. “I don’t. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. But you have the battles of today to fight and I’ve got to plan for tomorrow's.”

“But,”

“No buts. It’s your time now. You and Giles and Willow and Buffy and all your slayers and the new Council. You’re doing really good work. Because of what you’re doing, I might not be needed for another 1000 years, or maybe more.”

“You could fight with us. Help us.”

“I could in theory, but I can’t in practice.” He picked the amulet up off the table, placed it back in the velvet bag and stowed it in his jacket pocket. He looked back up at Xander, “I’ve got my own path and I’ve got to prepare for it.”

Xander pushed back the chair and stood up again. He opened his mouth to speak but the words failed to materialise. Instead he picked up his pint and swallowed what was left in one go. After he was finished, he hesitated, just for a second before grabbing Merlin’s pint and draining the last mouthfuls of beer left in the glass. He put both glasses back on the table with a clatter and looked at Merlin. “Did anyone ever tell you, you were annoying as hell?” he demanded.

Merlin looked down at the empty glasses, then back up at Xander. “One or two. Sometimes I’m deliberately annoying just to see if I can recreate the sensation.”

“Jesus,” Xander muttered. “You are lonely, aren’t you?”

Merlin shrugged. “Sometimes. I get by.” He nudged the chair Xander had vacated with the toe of his right boot. “Please sit down, you’re going to give me a crick in my neck.” Xander sat. “Sometimes I’m lonely,” Merlin continued. “But I’m never really alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think it’s a coincidence we met here in Kay’s Bar?”

“It’s a bar,” Xander replied. “Okay, it’s a really nice bar and it’s a really small bar that feels like a TARDIS from the number of people that seem to be able to fit inside it. It’s pretty close to the Council apartment. Not right next door, but easy walking distance. But that’s about it. I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Sir Kay was one of Arthur’s men. He was the son of Ector and Arthur’s foster brother. I’ve kept in touch with his descendents through the centuries. Campbell out there didn’t seem that surprised to see me with you, did he?”

“I guess,” Xander said slowly.

“And the snug just happened to be empty. Even without a game on, a pub this small doesn’t have an empty room and definitely not one where you don’t get disturbed by someone looking for a spare seat.”

“I thought you’d mojo’d the door or something.”

Merlin shook his head. “Nope, not me. But we still got peace and quiet to talk. It pays to keep in with the right people, remember that.”

“I’ll bear it in mind.” Xander paused and looked at the door leading back into the bar. He could see the backs of the crowd gathered around the TV, watching the game unfold. He could hear the chatter and the groans and gasps as the action unfolded and ground on the pitch was won and lost, but the doorway to the snug itself was empty and quiet, as if there was an invisible line that the crowd in the bar beyond couldn’t pass. “So this is a meeting point?” he asked.

“Something like that. It’s half way between a dead letter box and a sanctuary. I’ve got them all over the country. Wherever Arthur is remembered and where his knights live on in the blood and bones for others.”

“It’s weird," Xander said after a moment.

“What is?”

“The way you speak. In the garden and when we first came in here, you talked like me, only with a different accent. But then sometimes, like just now, you talk like you’ve lived for centuries, and I know that’s a really dumb thing to say because you have. It’s just odd looking at you with the boots and the leather jacket – you look younger than me and then you come out with all this stuff and all of a sudden I feel like I’m 15 again.”

Merlin grinned. “Sometimes I forget I’m not 15. Then at other times, well, let’s just say I’m glad I can make myself look the way I want. It usually makes life easier and helps me fit in.”

“So you don’t really look like that?”

“In my head I do and that’s all that matters.”

“I guess so. So what now?”

“Now I need to go and have another one-sided conversation with the dragon and you need to go home, report your mission accomplished and get some sleep, not necessarily in that order.”

“Just like that?” Xander stared as Merlin stood up and walked towards the door to the bar.

He paused and looked back. “Just like that,” he replied. He turned again and started to thread his way through the edge of the crowd.

Just before he disappeared into the mass of bodies, Xander kicked himself into action, stood up and followed. By the time he got to the other side of the bar, Merlin was shaking hands with the landlord.

“Campbell,” Merlin said. “This is Xander in case you didn’t already know his name. Make sure he always gets a decent pint.”

Campbell straightened up to his full, impressive height and folded his arms. “Everyone gets a decent pint in here, laddie.” Then his shoulders relaxed. “But aye, he can be sure that I’ll always pour it myself if he comes in.”

“Thanks Campbell. Come on Xander, time you were home.” Merlin headed for the street door. With one helpless look at Campbell, who shook his head and smiled, Xander followed Merlin out into the dark.

They didn’t speak as they walked, shoulder to shoulder, back down India Street, their footsteps loud in the quiet of the November night. Crossing the slick cobbles on the corner, they paused by the gate of the communal garden and Merlin pushed it. It opened without a sound.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For waiting when I was late. For climbing the railings and investigating the freaky lights. For having a pint with me and listening to me. For believing me and for bringing me the amulet. I could go on and on, but I’d sound like I was making an Oscar speech or something.”

“Yeah,” Xander replied. “You’re not exactly dressed for the red carpet.” He looked down at the cobbles and scuffed his foot along the edge of one that was standing slightly proud of the rest. “Wow,” he said finally. “I thought I knew weird, but this is beyond anything I – "

“Like I said,” Merlin interrupted, “Weird can be good. Weird can make life interesting”

“Yeah,” Xander agreed.

“Goodbye Xander. Good luck and say hello to Giles for me.” Merlin stepped through the gate and pulled it shut behind him. Suddenly the gulf between them seemed so much further than a single bar of iron.

“Goodbye Merlin,” Xander said. “Good luck yourself. I hope your dragon listens to you and Arthur hears you. I guess I’ll be long gone before you know the answer to that.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Merlin reached through the bars of the gate and touched Xander lightly on the arm, then turned. He walked quickly down the path and disappeared beyond the old oak tree.

Xander stood and stared into the quiet garden. He waited, the rain dripping down the back of his neck. There was a flash of light just beyond the bank of laurel bushes and in the moment before the light faded, he swore he heard a voice say “Thanks for liking my Docs.” Then the light was gone.

Xander laughed and the sound was loud in the silence and the dark. He tapped his fingers lightly on the top of the closed gate. Then, shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked back across the cobbles and towards the stone stairs that led down to the next level of the city and the Council’s apartment. He could feel a hot shower and his bed beckoning.

Tomorrow he would talk to Giles.


End file.
